


where the roots rot

by destati



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Body Horror, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29672361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destati/pseuds/destati
Summary: (  steve's pov. drabble for a kid who deserved better ) imagine getting issued an inmate number. imagine it being branded to your skin and how much that must have hurt when your screams filled the air with the other people going through the same damn thing with the smell of burning flesh stinging your eyes. you feel betrayed by your father.-- why isn’t anyone doing anything to stop this? who is in charge? why couldn’t they just fire your dad? imagine the tracking collar paired with the new branding that completes the idea that you’re now property of Umbrella -- and the realization comes crashing in that you might not escape, that you’re stuck here until you die.this place is how you die.
Relationships: Steve Burnside/Claire Redfield
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	where the roots rot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [All my Code Veronica people.](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=All+my+Code+Veronica+people.).



> just imagine being a **16-17 year old kid** just hanging around your house and basically a private group of **armed-to-the-teeth soldiers** bust down your door, tie you up and set you across the room executioner style and _blow your mom’s brains out in front of you._ then all you can see is the dark when they throw a bag over your head, **100% kidnapping you and your dad**. they throw you on a remote island military base now revamped into some strange concentration camp for a multi-million dollar pharmaceutical super power. you’re the **enemy** now because your dad tried to sell the company’s secrets to make a quick buck. you’re the prisoner now thanks to your parent’s bad choice. _what did you do to deserve this?_  
> 
> 
> imagine getting issued an inmate number. imagine getting it **branded** to your skin and how much that must have hurt when your screams filled the air with the other people going through the same damn thing with the smell of burning flesh stinging your eyes. **you feel betrayed by your father.** why isn’t anyone doing anything to stop this? who is in charge? why couldn’t they just fire your dad? imagine the tracking collar paired with the new branding that completes the idea that you’re now property of Umbrella -- and the realization comes crashing in that you might not escape, that you’re stuck here until you die. **this place is how you die.**  
> 
> 
> you and your dad haven’t seen each beyond passing glances and courtyard work. because these military dogs -- or whatever they are, make you do meaningless tasks to help build more of the complex into the island. but then those projects teeter off in the months. and then you start seeing people disappear, slowly but surely, the population of inmates you’ve bonded with over the months begins to dwindle. **you hear screaming in the night. your blood runs cold.** there are rumors that this Alfred Ashford who runs the base went mad - so what does that mean for you? and what the hell is an anatomist? isn’t that a doctor?  
> 
> 
> **the uncertainty is killing you more than the knowing.**
> 
> then something _explodes._ the island is on **fire**. everyone is being affected. the soldiers and guards are either evacuating or-- you’re sure you’re seeing things. but did Jeffery just **take a bite** out of Thompson? Sure, those two never got along.. but..
> 
> and then it happens. **and keeps happening.** before you can really understand what’s happening, you’re running for your life, hiding from men devouring each other, friends turning enemies and the dead ripping themselves out of debris and burning complex. you escape. only to find you aren’t the only survivor.
> 
> it’s a girl who knows her way around a gun, she’s gorgeous and you try not to look like a total idiot. ...and then a psychopathic Ashford bent on playing cat and mouse games with you both. you know eventually the only way to get out of here alive is team up, but you want to prove to yourself you can survive **without n** eeding others. depending on others is how someone can **betray you** , how someone can get you locked up on island full of lunatics, remember? **you don’t need anyone.**
> 
> and then you’re the one saving the girl, it’s before you even realize what you’re doing. didn’t you just say you didn’t **need anyone?**  
> 
> 
> but there was nothing ever decided about **them** ever _needing you._ you feel good about yourself, feel the adrenaline and for once in this crazy few days, you feel like you can do this. **survive**. and it helps she’s amazing, _shit_ \-- she’s really just some kind of angel that dropped out of the sky that moment you were about to suffocate for yanking some awesome golden guns off a wall. _who even booby traps a room like that?_
> 
> but then looking **where** you are -- in all of this **chaos** , it’s not surprising. **you’re both dancing to the tune of a devil** without realizing it, or maybe you do because this is the only way out.  
> 
> 
> and you shouldn’t be surprised one second when you see **HIM**. _your father_. a mangled shuffling corpse, dead-eyed and broken trapping **HER** , the girl that’s saved you just as you’ve saved her. you can’t let it end this way, you don’t _want_ to pull the trigger. but he’s about to rip her throat out. **  
> **
> 
> **so you do. you let go**. the sound is **deafening,** a rage and sorrow burns in your chest and has you vomiting up choked sobs about the only real family you had left in this world.
> 
> **he was already gone by the time you found him**. already dead. _but this?_ **this didn’t help.**
> 
> she leaves you to your thoughts, strong willed and already pushing to find another escape route. but all you can think of is how to get revenge, how to pay the bastards back that infected this island in the first place-- _Umbrella,_ whoever else, and the feeling festers with the bile in your gut. **you can’t hide your face in your hands anymore; you stop crying.**
> 
> then you find a spot on the island to lay your father to rest. **you burn the body.** you try not to focus on the stench and how it reminds you of your own flesh under a searing iron brand **.** leave nothing traceable, nothing left that anyone could desecrate. **you never get to say goodbye,** you never get to forgive, you never get to tell him it wasn’t fair.  
> 
> 
> the island, the virus, took everything.
> 
> ( - - - - )
> 
> and this isn’t even the WORST of it really. just imagine after all that, you get captured after thinking you’ve finally escaped the island. you FLEW a plane. you almost...-- with her.. but.. ?  
> 
> 
> Alexia? Alfred? _no_ \-- this is really her, **not Alfred** , not the man you were sure died in the arctic base from falling to his death. you stared down the scope of his sniper rifle and **won**. so _why_ is this happening? you spit curses at her, **she laughs at you,** shrill- undaunted. there is something cruel in her eyes, her tone. this is **worse** than Alfred and you feel something inside you churn with **dread** as there is a gleam of a syringe.  
> 
> 
> it pricks your skin and for a moment, **you feel nothing.**  
> 
> 
> and then everything at once.  
> 
> 
> **you are on fire.** your skin, your hair, your eyes, your veins. you feel like you’re drowning in a hellstorm of fury and blazing temperatures. the pain is nothing like you’ve felt before, your body thrums from shock and there’s bones crunching and snapping, twisting your limbs and spine like gnarling roots into something treacherous.  
> 
> 
> now there’s a voice singing in your bones and blood. like one of those grisly haunted dolls hanging from the ceilings of that manor; you’re pinched together with marionette strings and your limbs move, claws reaching for the deadly halberd keeping you in place. no matter what, you can’t stop it. you’re screaming on the inside and the chorus echos louder, swallowing everything.
> 
> you swing at HER - **and pray you miss.**  
> 


End file.
